


Four Times Leonard McCoy Didn’t Really Have a Choice (And One Time He Did)

by graceandfire



Series: Brightness Burns [19]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Mirror Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 04:45:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/948779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graceandfire/pseuds/graceandfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Title pretty much says it all...</p><p>**************************<br/>“Sign here.”</p><p>Leonard looks away from the recruiting officer’s shark-like smile and down at the enlistment contract, thirty screens worth of legalese that boils down to: ‘We will *(#$^ own you.’ The seemingly innocuous PADD sits there while fury, depression and the remains of last night’s whiskey roil in his gut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Times Leonard McCoy Didn’t Really Have a Choice (And One Time He Did)

**Author's Note:**

> So this one runs a pretty wide gamut. And be warned there is non con of an OFC in here.
> 
> Also, wow, this is actually the last existing fic in this series. I've got a few more other non Brightness Burns fics to post but have finally gotten close to uploading everything I've done.
> 
> I do have some ideas for further fics and have been doing some writing but definitely the pace of posting will slow significantly. It's been quite a ride to re-enjoy these fics and characters and thank you so much to everyone who's read and appreciated them!

1.

“Sign here.”  
  
Leonard looks away from the recruiting officer’s shark-like smile and down at the enlistment contract, thirty screens worth of legalese that boils down to: ‘We will fucking own you.’ The seemingly innocuous PADD sits there while fury, depression and the remains of last night’s whiskey roil in his gut.  
  
The fucking _Imperial Fleet_. Is he really gonna do this? There’s got to be…he can find another way, get Jocelyn to call off her dogs. He can…his thoughts flash back to three nights ago.  
  
 _The slash of a knife, a line of fire burning across his gut, so close to spilling his intestines, dying in an alley. Jocelyn isn’t gonna stop, she wants him dead, she’ll never stop…_  
  
 _Jo._  
  
Jo.  
  
He can’t do anything for her if he’s dead.  
  
Swallowing down the rising nausea, he signs.  
  
  
2.  
  
The tension coiling in the pit of Leonard’s belly tightens further as he carefully avoids looking over at Kirk. Six months of being the man’s favorite fuck toy and subject of psychological torment have made him a goddamn unwilling expert on the man’s moods.  
  
And right now that mood is more than ugly.  
  
It’s a flavor of dangerous Leonard hasn’t seen before.  
  
Playful, grinning and lethal. Fierce, deadly and grim. Leonard’s witnessed and experienced all sorts of variations, combinations and permutations. Kirk is a ridiculously complicated man and Leonard thinks he may never understand him entirely.  
  
But one thing he does know. Kirk’s mood right now is dangerous in a whole ‘nother way.  
  
Leonard still doesn’t get why Kirk insisted he tag along on this round of meetings, continent hopping via a combination of military and civilian shuttle flights. Maybe Kirk just wanted the convenience of having his toy close at hand since Leonard can now boast the rare distinction of having taken it up the ass on every Terran continent, which…yeah, that had really been on his fucking bucket list.  
  
But when Kirk had arrived to collect him at the med center after his latest meeting with the brass in New Delhi, Leonard could actually feel the fury roiling behind the calm, almost bored expression.  
  
He doesn’t understand why no one else seems to sense it, but apparently they don’t. If they did, they’d be running. But while he’s damn sure the fool responsible will eventually pay the ultimate price, for now _he’s_ the handy whipping boy. So he waits for Kirk to yank him into an alley somewhere between the hospital and the transport center, to take some of that simmering temper out on his ass, but Kirk barely looks at him, staying uncharacteristically silent. As they board the civilian shuttle flight back to San Francisco, Leonard chances a glance and then lets his gaze settle because Kirk’s own gaze is shifting across the cabin, assessing passengers and crew.  
  
Then Kirk’s attention sharpens and, as he follows the other man’s line of vision, Leonard’s stomach clenches.  
  
Because of course Kirk’s bypassed the willing, the bold, and the obvious, zeroing in on a quiet, almost sedate attendant, young, not beautiful but with a…sweetness about her. Like she’s fresh off the farm (and didn’t have the goddamn sense to stay there). Leonard opens his mouth with some stupid thought of drawing Kirk’s attention back to him; hell, he’s already damaged.  
  
Trained.  
  
Broken in.  
  
It’s a fucking stupid impulse because, yeah, she _looks_ sweet, but who knows what ruthless ambition hides underneath. Maybe it’s that cynical thought that makes him hesitate, maybe it’s some last vestige of self-preservation instinct; either way, the pause is enough. Kirk is raising his hand in subtle signal and the concierge makes his way over.  
  
“Captain Kirk, how may I make your trip more enjoyable this afternoon?” The man’s too good at his job to sound like a suck up but Leonard instinctively dislikes his smooth attitude all the same. Damn snake oil salesman.  
  
Kirk nods at the attendant who’s across in the coach cabin smiling cheerfully as she delivers a drink.  “What’s her name?”  
  
The concierge follows his gaze and he hesitates for the briefest of moments, smile faltering, before he looks back at Kirk. “Elena Raukman. She’s not very…perhaps one of the other…”  
  
“That’s all.” Kirk’s dismissal is clear and the concierge is enough of a professional—and enough of a survivor—to bow hastily and back away.  
  
Kirk pulls out his PADD and Leonard watches him punch the name in. “Elena Raukman. Only child, attended the Empire-run public education system. No secondary education. Not married. No official connections.” He punches something else into his PADD. “No known unofficial connections either.”  
  
Leonard watches Kirk smile.  
  
  
  
Kirk doesn’t hurt her.  
  
Not physically.  
  
Leonard knows, that’s not where the challenge lies.  
  
She enters their private cabin with a pleasant smile, the wary look in her bright eyes showing she’s not a complete moron.  
  
When Kirk smiles and flirts some of the wariness fades.  
  
When Kirk, still smiling, orders her to take off her clothes, she fights.  
  
When Kirk orders him to hold her wrists down, Leonard snarls back and tells his captain to fuck the hell off.  
  
Kirk just looks back at him with steady demon-blue eyes as he pins the girl to the plush carpeting of their private cabin. “There are a lot worse things I could do to her, McCoy.”  
  
Leonard gets down on the floor and holds her wrists, hating Kirk and himself and the world and even, a little bit, the girl.  
  
He looks away. Tries to block out the sobbing. Tries to ignore the feel of her slender wrists twisting under his grip. He’s trying not to bruise her, but she’s delicate and...  
  
Kirk says him name. Just his name. At the low-voiced warning Leonard looks up and forces himself to watch Kirk take the girl apart.  
  
Kirk doesn’t hurry. It’s a two hour shuttle flight. McCoy knows Kirk’s intent as he hums out a combination of dirty words and soft endearments. As his powerful, clever hands and ruthless, clever mouth do obscenely clever things to soft, sensitive flesh.  
  
He’s not surprised when she starts begging, pleading with Kirk to fuck her, to let her come, writhing under Leonard’s grip for a different reason, whimpering past shame into need.  
  
He’s been there.  
  
  
After, Kirk sends the girl off in her shredded uniform with a casual order for drinks and reaches over to palm Leonard through his pants, smirking at the evidence of arousal.  
  
“Fuck you,” Leonard mutters hoarsely as he digs his fingers into the cushions to keep from taking a swing.  
  
Kirk’s eyes just narrow, mood apparently having eased, and he lets go with a shrug, leaning back. “Suit yourself. But you don’t come until I let you.”  
  
Leonard finishes the shuttle ride miserably hard, furious and sick for being turned on by Kirk’s performance art.  
  
That night, pinned down as Kirk teases the orgasm out of him, Leonard bites down on his own lip to keep from begging (like the girl).  
  
He draws blood.  
  
But he doesn’t beg.  
  
He’s had more practice.  
  
  
3.  
  
“Get the hell out of my way.” The aftermath of the explosions is ringing in his ears, the acrid smell of smoke burning his nostrils. There have to be at least twenty wounded personnel out there. He needs to triage, sort out the worst of them and determine who can be saved—shit, Christine’s on the ship, safe at least, but he could sure as hell use her. He only has his portable medical case on hand, and ionic interference prevents direct beam-ups, but if communications are still working maybe they can…  
  
“No.”  
  
Leonard pulls himself back into the here and now and glares. “Goddammit, Chekov, I need to…”  
  
“I cannot guarantee your protection out there, Doktor McCoy. You will stay here.” There’s no hint of apology in Chekov’s usually deferential voice. There’s no give in his wide eyes as Leonard stares at him in growing disbelief.  
  
“Dammit, man, I’m a doctor. I need to be out there. It’s my fucking _job_.”  
  
“And it is _my_ job to keep you safe. The keptin, he has entrusted me with this duty. I am wery sorry, doktor, but you will need to stay…”  
  
Leonard knows he can’t take the kid down—he’s treated enough Chekov inflicted injuries to know how laughable that idea is—so he doesn’t try. He just pushes past. He’s got Chekov beat on body mass at least and the kid won’t…  
  
It’s the last thought he has as the world goes dark.  
  
  
  
Chekov takes Leonard’s fist to his face without flinching, hand never even reaching for a blade. Leonard doesn’t look at him after that. Not on the shuttle back to the _Enterprise_ from Tarlok’s surface. Not on the walk to the bridge.  
  
When they make their report Kirk nods at Chekov. “Good job.”  
  
Chekov nods back, sober under the smoke and blood and developing black eye. “Thank you, Keptin.”  
  
Leonard can feel his teeth grinding as he glares. “Good _job_? People _died_ because I was prevented from doing _my_ job.”  
  
Kirk ignores him. “Chekov, you’re dismissed.”  
  
The navigator leaves with a last flickering glance at Leonard that he pretends he doesn’t see.  
  
“Dammit, Kirk, I could have…”  
  
Kirk’s lethally sharp glare cuts him off at the knees. “Could have what? Gotten killed? The situation was unstable. Your _job_ is to provide medical treatment when it doesn’t endanger _your own_ safety. You’re Chief Physician. That makes you more valuable than the rank and file. Chekov made the right call.”  
  
His voice is dismissive. Conversation over.  
  
Leonard feels his face flushing with anger. “Bullshit. That’s not…”  
  
The narrowing of Kirk’s eyes is the only warning he gets before he finds himself face down, bent over the ready room table, his struggles getting him where they usually do.  
  
Exactly nowhere.  
  
Kirk’s voice by his ear is not happy. “There’s also the fact that your ass happens to belong to me. Which means you don’t get to put it in danger _unless I say so_. After all this time, you still seem to have trouble remembering that.”  
  
Kirk’s hand moves to the fastenings of Leonard’s uniform pants.  
  
“Guess you need another reminder.”  
  
  
  
Chekov enters Sickbay at the beginning of beta shift the next day, a hopeful expression on his face.  
  
Leonard looks at him from across the room where he’s treating Crewman Martines’ broken arm. “Out.”  
  
Chekov’s expression falls and he looks maybe nine. “Doktor McCoy, I would just like to…”  
  
Leonard snarls. “Get the fuck _out_. Unless your life needs saving, you stay the _hell_ out of my sickbay.”  
  
The room feels frozen, the staff and few patients wary and unmoving, probably waiting for blood to be shed. Leonard wonders for a moment as he looks into shuttering eyes what it would take for Chekov to turn those famous knives of his on him. Wonders if he’s about to find out.  
  
Chekov finally nods, dignified. “Yes, doktor. I will not bother you again.”  
  
  
  
He keeps stewing over it, staring at the damn PADD with the nine autopsies he has yet to sign off on. He could have saved at least three of them.  
  
He knows he needs to let it go. But he can’t. He doesn’t _want_ to.  
  
He knows he’s being surlier than usual, snapping at Kirk, pushing boundaries and unwritten rules.  
  
He’s not surprised when he pushes too far; finds himself tied down on Kirk’s bed, being taught a lesson. When it’s over, Kirk lays next to him, idly tracing fingers over Leonard’s chest and abs. “Seriously, McCoy? Get over it already.”  
  
Leonard lets glowering silence serve as his answer until Kirk gives an amused huff and calls for the lights to dim.  
  
  
  
He looks up from his desk five days later to see Chekov’s partner in crime standing in his office. For once, something other than imperturbable amusement twists his features.  
  
“What?” Leonard snaps.  
  
Sulu frowns at him. “Okay, seriously, doc? You need to forgive the kid. Not that he actually, y’know, _did anything wrong_.”  
  
“This isn’t any of your goddamn business.”  
  
Sulu rolls his eyes. “Not my business? Well, see, that’s where you’re wrong. It abso-fucking-lutely _is_ my business when the kid is sitting next to me and _moping_ through every shift. He’s _Russian_ , doc. He’s got some spectacularly impressive moping skills and I _miss_ my cheerful killing machine.”  
  
Leonard feels his jaw clench. “Chekov had no fucking right to…”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, he should have let you run out and get yourself killed. Whatever. Oh, except for how the captain would have had him tortured to death if he’d let that happen. If you care.”  
  
Leonard snorts. “Chekov’s too valuable, he wouldn’t…”  
  
“Uh huh. Kid was under _orders_.” Sulu walks closer, leans against Leonard’s desk. Leans in. “Although he probably would have done it anyway because of this weird thing he has where he actually values your life.” His tone indicates that this is a clear failing in his otherwise awesome torture buddy.  
  
They stare at each other for another moment before Sulu pulls back and shrugs. “So, anyway. You might want to cut the kid some slack for, y’know, keeping you from getting dead.”  
  
Leonard glares after him as he exits.  
  
Decides he deserves a glass of the good stuff.  
  
Finishes his premium W.L. Weller.  
  
Broods.  
  
 _Fuck._  
  
He comms the bridge and Chekov’s half-wary, half-hopeful face appears on the terminal screen. “You’re overdue for your physical, Lieutenant. Get your ass down here after shift.”  
  
The kid fucking beams. _“Really?_ Thank you _, Doktor Mc…”_ Leonard cuts him off.  
  
He picks up the PADD and stares at it again. He inputs the command to sign off on the autopsies.  
  
He puts the PADD away and pours himself another drink.  
  
  
  
4.  
  
“So why are you really here?”  
  
Leonard hefts his medical case and looks over at Kirk who’s looking back at him like he’s a puzzle to solve.  
  
The eye roll is almost automatic. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m your doctor. It’s kind of my _job_ to make sure you don’t relapse and drop dead.”  
  
“Uh huh.” Those bluer than blue eyes are still studying him and Leonard firmly squelches the urge to shift under the weight of that quizzical regard.  
  
He _hmphs_ instead. “And now that I’ve confirmed you’re gonna live, I’ve got a shitload of paperwork to catch up on so…”  
  
“No.”  
  
The scowl _is_ automatic. “No?”  
  
Kirk’s eyes have narrowed. “No. I’m almost recovered. You didn’t have to come down here and check on me. Which means you’re here for a different reason.”  
  
The urge to squirm grows, but fuck that, Leonard Horatio McCoy is made of sterner stuff. “Look, _Captain_ , maybe your recent injury included a blow to the head that I missed because…” He stops.  
  
Because Kirk is starting to smile.  
  
 _Ah, hell._  
  
“So it’s been, what, two weeks since the Exxes Prime FUBAR. I haven’t fucked you since then.” Kirk cocks his head, smirks. “Have you been lonely, McCoy?”  
  
 _Oh, fuck this._ Leonard gives his best glare, hefts his case again and heads towards the exit to Kirk’s quarters. “You really _are_ delusional. I’ll arrange a brain scan once I’m back in Sickbay and…”  
  
“Oh, I don’t think so. Come here.”  
  
Leonard stops in front of the door and considers his options. He could walk out. And suffer the embarrassment of being escorted back by Security. Or being dragged back in by Kirk. He sighs and turns around. “Kirk, I really do…”  
  
“Come. Here.”  
  
He stomps. It may be a little undignified, but it conveys his opinion just fine.  
  
Kirk’s smirk is almost teasing when Leonard comes to a surly stop in front of him. He reaches up, sliding a warm hand under Leonard’s uniform shirt, sweeping over bare flesh, and that’s all it takes for Leonard’s dick to go to half-mast. “Feeling neglected, McCoy? Something you want?”  
  
Leonard scowls because this isn’t what he’d been expecting when he’d shown up at Kirk’s door. Whenever Kirk is in the mood, he just orders Leonard to bend over; or he manhandles him onto the nearest available surface.  
  
And Kirk? Is pretty much _always_ in the mood.  
  
So, yeah, maybe that had kind of been in the back of Leonard’s mind when he’d stopped by after shift to check on Kirk’s recovery. He’s honest enough to admit that (to himself) but, hell, he’s used to having Kirk’s dick in his ass on a regular basis. Two weeks? It’s the longest he’s gone since…he can’t even remember.  
  
He’s trained to want this.  
  
And he’d rather have his teeth dissolved with Vygerian acid than admit to it.  
  
He gives an aggrieved sigh. “What I _want_ is for my sex addict of a captain to let me _go_ so I can get some _work_ done and…”  
  
Kirk snorts. “Sex addict? Really? Is that your professional diagnosis?”  
  
“If the dick fits.”  
  
Kirk grins. “Oh, I think we’ve proven my dick fits just fine.” His grin widens. “And you’re just totally planning to deny you came here for sex, aren’t you?”  
  
“I did mention the delusional part, right?” And maybe his high ground is a little questionable right now seeing how he’s thrusting forward but that’s only because Kirk has stuck his hand down Leonard’s pants and is palming him and it’s a fucking unfair fact of life just how good Kirk is with his hands.  
  
And then the hand is withdrawn and Leonard’s blinking in consternation as Kirk leans back against his desk, arms crossed.  
  
“Well, okay then. If you’ve got duties, you’re dismissed.”  
  
 _What?_  
  
“What?”  
  
“That’s what you want, right? You’re busy. Well, go forth, Doctor McCoy and do some healing.”  
  
Leonard blinks. “Okay.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Fine.”  
  
“Fine.”  
  
 _Goddammit_. Leonard scoops up the fallen med case, resists the urge to stomp because…what the fuck, and heads to the door feeling unaccountably cheated.  
  
Not to mention horny.  
  
He reaches the door and it slides open. As humiliating as it is, he’s probably gonna have to stop by his quarters and jerk off because he…  
  
“McCoy.”  
  
“ _What?_ ” he snaps, turning to glare at his _unreliable_ captain.  
  
Kirk shakes his head. “You are such a stubborn asshole. Come back here.”  
  
Incredulous, Leonard stares at Kirk who looks…exasperated.  
  
He stomps back in.  
  
Kirk shoves off from the desk and points to it. “Bend over.”  
  
“Fuck y—”  
  
The narrowing of Kirk’s eyes is the only warning he gets before he finds himself face down, bent over the desk, his struggles getting him where they usually do.  
  
Exactly nowhere.  
  
Kirk’s hands move to the fastenings of Leonard’s uniform pants.  
  
His voice is amused by Leonard’s ear. “I won’t make you ask. This time.”  
  
  
  
  
And…1.  
  
“Come back with us.” The words are fervent; those of a holy man pursuing a broken soul. “Jo’s a grown woman. She doesn’t need your protection anymore. Bo…Leonard, come _with_ us.”  
  
Leonard looks into the clear blue eyes he hasn’t seen in almost fifteen years.  
  
He sees their twins every day.  
  
So identical.  
  
So different.  
  
His Kirk has never looked at him like this. Open. Shining. Wearing his caring and concern for all the world to see.  
  
His Kirk has never given him a choice.  
  
He reaches out and cradles that so familiar face in his palm, feels the faint stubble. Feels Jim push automatically into the touch, like a cat. Leonard drops his palm away.  
  
Jim exhales slowly. “You’re not coming with us, are you?”  
  
“No.”  
  
  
END


End file.
